


favorable positions

by gummies



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Consensual Drugging, Egg Laying, M/M, Oviposition, Riding, Sex Positive Asexual Character, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fisting, Vaginal Sex, Web!Martin, gaping, its monster venom though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:21:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23292391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gummies/pseuds/gummies
Summary: It was… different, dating Martin. And not just because he was some sort of spider monster- not that Jon was one to talk. Pot calling the kettle black, and all that.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 24
Kudos: 383





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by this post: https://blizzardeggs.tumblr.com/post/613242887100055552/thinkin-about-jon-getting-stuffed-full-of-eggs

"Ready?" Martin asked. 

He was sitting back in the chair to Jon's desk, trousers unbuttoned. Jon was in a similar state of undress, perched in his lap. Or, he would've been, if not for Martin holding him aloft, one hand cupping each of Jon's upper thighs. His own trousers were somewhere on the floor, as were his briefs- discarded in the rush to get started.

Jon had never had the highest sex drive. He’d tried to fake it, back when he was with Georgie, but she’d always been able to tell something was off, and nothing ever came of it- least of all them. 

Nothing had changed. Not in regard to his libido- in other ways, _everything_ had changed. Jon especially. In fact, that’d been the reason they broke up in the first place. He’d cared for Georgie, had even loved her, for a time. But being with her had made Jon feel like he was living a lie, even before he realised just what it was he was lying about. Every time she smiled at him, every time she slung her arm around his shoulders and said _let me introduce you to my girlfriend-_ well. 

It was… different, dating Martin. And not just because he was some sort of spider monster- not that Jon was one to talk. Pot calling the kettle black, and all that.

Honestly, it was probably more of an internal change than anything. Just knowing that Martin _knew,_ that he still wanted him, was enough to put Jon at ease. He could still remember the look on Martin’s face when he realised Jon was wearing his binder to bed- not relief, not even disgust, just gentle concern. 

_I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,_ Jon had said.

 _Please don’t worry about that,_ Martin had told him, sounding so sure. _Nothing about you makes me uncomfortable. Except maybe when you are. Sympathetic pains, and all- sorry, that thing just does_ not _look fun to sleep in._

Jon had considered sleeping separately just as long as it took to dismiss the idea. In the end, he woke up with his back fitted snugly to Martin’s own chest, one of his boyfriend’s arms- the human ones- slung around his waist, careful to leave his chest with ample space. All in all, there were worse ways to start a morning.

The point was, Jon was comfortable. Around Martin, at the very least. Good thing they worked together. It left them with an abundance of opportunities. Opportunities Jon was beginning to take advantage of, given the development of their relationship.

As it turned out, Jon liked sex. Not with anyone besides Martin, and even _then,_ it wasn’t really about specific desire. But Martin had always been careful with him. Jon trusted him. 

Jon was no stranger to masturbation. It was a good way to relieve stress, which he had in excess. He had owned a toy for the very purpose, but Jon had found it, as with most, paled in comparison to the real thing.

Said _thing_ was currently flushed and hard, jutting out from Martin's fly. Jon may not have had much experience, but even he could tell Martin was big. That was part of the appeal, if he was honest. There was something so satisfying about having it stretch him open, about being _full._ Jon could feel himself getting wet at the thought, anticipation thrumming through his bones. As he watched, a droplet of slick dripped down from between his lips, landing squarely on the head of Martin's cock.

"Jon?" Martin prompted, voice taking on a teasing edge. "You ready?"

Jon nodded, throat dry. "Please."

Martin smiled, leaning down to place a kiss on Jon's cheek. Jon chased his lips, letting out a soft gasp as the hot tip of Martin's cock met his cunt, slipping between his folds to press in. Jon's entrance put up a token resistance, until Martin loosened his hold, and suddenly the wide head popped inside as Jon fell onto it. With gravity's aid, the rest followed quickly. Jon was left with no choice but to slide down the cock, whimpering as he felt himself go taut around its width. Martin groaned above him, letting go of his thighs to clutch his waist. Jon hissed out a breath as he took the last few inches.

With his knees parted around Martin’s middle, Jon’s feet stopped just shy of touching the floor. He had no leverage, stuck as he was, practically impaled in Martin’s lap.

Jon’s jaw had fallen slack, which Martin was taking full advantage of. His tongue swept across Jon’s, exploring his mouth like he was trying to make a map. Everywhere he touched, Jon was left with an odd, tingling sensation. Martin’s venom. Jon huffed, running his own tongue along the sharp points of Martin’s fangs. He tasted blood, and wondered for a second if Martin had fed recently before realising it was his own. 

Martin made a small, strangled sound. He took one of his hands from Jon’s hip to grab him by the back of the head, holding him in place as the kiss deepened. Jon moaned, clutching at his shoulders. The tingling was beginning to spread, muscles relaxing of their own accord. Jon’s clit ached, desperate for attention. When he tried to bring a hand down to relieve the pressure, Jon found he’d lost coordination of his limbs. He tried to speak, to beg for Martin to touch him, but all that came out was another ragged moan as the kiss broke. A thin thread of spit connected their lips. It was tinged with red.

Gasping for breath, Jon almost didn’t notice Martin ducking his head to leave a trail of kisses down his chest, only stopping to take one of Jon’s nipples between his teeth and _bite._ Not hard enough to break skin, but enough to send a sharp twinge of pain through the rush of pleasure. Jon lolled his head into the crook of Martin’s shoulder, muffling his squeaks as Martin toyed with his breasts. He tried to squirm away, only to be held in place by long, chitinous limbs creeping up behind his back. Martin’s other legs, coming out to play.

Once he finished with Jon's chest, Martin went back to work on his neck. This time he didn't hold back, and Jon yelped as fangs sunk into the flesh of his trapezius. Martin didn't pull back, just lapped at blood like a shark. Jon had never felt so much like _prey,_ caught and helpless. A fly trapped in a web.

Without warning, Jon found himself in the air once again. Martin’s extra legs hooked around his thighs, lifting him up, only to drop him back down on Martin’s cock. Jon whined, letting his eyes flutter shut. 

For a time, he was lost to sensation. The sweet stretch in his cunt, just on the right side of too much. The teeth buried in his neck, pushing more venom into his bloodstream. Martin’s limbs, cradling him, keeping him safe. 

Then, Jon felt something. An odd, growing pressure at his entrance, at the root of Martin’s prick. He made a questioning noise.

Martin paused his work, letting Jon sink down his length one last time. “Jon? Everything alright?” Martin asked, sounding out of breath. As he bottomed out, Jon felt the pressure shift. He could make out its shape, now. Round, almost like an-

Jon squeaked in alarm, eyes snapping open. He clenched down before he could stop himself. It had the opposite effect as intended, seemingly drawing the- the _egg,_ it had to be, what else could it have been?- deeper. 

Martin sucked in a breath, releasing his hold on Jon’s neck. “I- fuck, fuck, sorry, sorry! I didn’t know I had to- it was supposed to be another week at least until- fuck, I’m sorry, here, let me just-” He went to pull out, but the motion just helped the thing travel. With Martin's cock pressing against Jon's cervix, there was only one way it could go.

Jon _keened_ as it popped out of Martin and into him, settling deeper than anything Jon had ever taken. It didn't hurt, strangely- in fact, it felt good.

"D-don't stop," he managed, once he was able to breathe again.

Martin twitched inside of him. "Are... are you sure? I'm, I might be able to hold the rest in, if you-"

"Martin," Jon begged, _"more._ Please."

"...I-if you're sure." Martin said. He sounded conflicted, but even as he spoke, Jon could feel a second egg sliding down his cock. Martin thrust, and it emerged just as he pulled back, only to be _pushed_ past Jon's cervix when he bottomed out. It settled in next to the first, a comforting weight. Jon couldn't feel them, exactly, but he could feel the way they displaced his other organs slightly, a tension on his bladder, his clit.

The tension only built as Martin’s thrusts picked up force, until they were entering him at a steady pace. There was no time to adjust to the new intrusions before they were immediately replaced, each going into him with ease. Jon’s stomach was beginning to ache, but Martin showed no signs of stopping. Not that Jon was complaining. He’d never been so _full_ before. It felt right, like he’d found something he’d been missing. 

From the sounds Martin was making above him, he was enjoying himself just as much, if not more. “You’re _beautiful,”_ he panted, arachnid limbs curling around Jon’s legs and _spreading_ him. “You’re doing, _fuck,_ you’re doing so well. Do you want me to keep going?”

Jon nodded frantically. _“Yes,”_ he choked out. The venom’s effects were beginning to recede- how long had they been here for? He could feel himself regaining control of his faculties, but he still felt so _loose._ It was a pleasurable contrast with the tightness in his abdomen. He wondered how much space there was left in him, how much further his body would bend and stretch to accept what Martin gave it before he was physically unable to take more. It had to be far- far more than a normal human could, at the very least. Jon wanted to find out. Wanted to know his limits. Wanted to push past them.

Martin moaned, nuzzling his face into Jon’s hair. One of his hands went to Jon’s stomach, and Jon gasped. He leaned back, surveying himself as best he could through the haze of arousal. There was a slight distention, he could now tell, skin pulled taut around the pocket of eggs being deposited in it. The surface was uneven, bumpy. It shifted as he watched, a pair of eggs jostling the ones already inside as they joined, forcing the others, forcing _Jon,_ to make room.

“You- you’re going to take such good care of them, aren’t you? My eggs?” Martin asked. The words send a jolt straight to Jon’s clit.

“Yes,” he gasped, arching his back to rub himself against Martin’s stomach. Before he could, however, the spidery limbs cradling him tightened their grip, holding him in place, immobilised. Jon whined in desperation, trying to buck his hips to no avail.

Martin kissed him again, a wicked glint in his eyes. “After,” he said.

Jon groaned, jerking half-heartedly against his restraints. Martin shushed him. 

“Good incubators wait u-until they’re done doing their _job_ to get off. You want to be a good incubator, don’t you, Jon? For me?”

Jon squeezed his eyes shut as he nodded, face flushing. 

“Say it,” Martin commanded, hoisting Jon up until just the head of his cock remained in him. It was almost a relief, some of the burden being taken from him, but Jon hated it. He wanted to be _full._ To be stuffed to bursting, until he was too heavy to even move. To do anything but be Martin’s perfect host, to be anything but a hole for Martin to store his clutch.

“I, I want to, _ah,_ to be a good incubator!” 

“You are,” Martin cooed, “you are, you’re amazing, fuck, I love you so much. I’m going to give you so many. You won’t even be able to _walk_ when I’m done. And even if you could, I wouldn’t let you. I’m going to wrap you up nice and snug, put you somewhere safe while they- while they _grow._ Maybe I’ll even give you some more, later, when you start begging me to take them out. Would you like that? For me to- to use you like that?”

“Yes!” Jon wailed, “Yes, please, _please.”_ Martin flattened his hand against Jon’s stomach just as the next cluster of eggs breached his womb. Jon couldn't help it- he came with a sob, eyes rolling back in his head, mouth hanging open. Martin fucked him through it all the while, sparing him no mercy. 

Things went a bit fuzzy, after that. Jon fell limp, slumping into Martin's arms and letting himself be used. And used he was- by the time things came back into focus, Martin was pulling out. Jon’s cunt gushed in its absence- slick and come drooling from his hole to splatter on the seat of the chair. The bulge in his stomach was sizably larger- Jon was too overwhelmed to know just how many eggs had been pumped into him, but there had to be at least a hundred. 

Both of Martin’s hands were on his stomach, now. Just the feeling of fingers sweeping over the sensitive skin was enough to make him whimper. He nearly cried when Martin started applying pressure, rubbing his palm in and adjusting the eggs’ positions from the outside. Just when he thought one was coming to pop back out, Martin’s still-hard cock was pressing back into him, plugging him up with a squeal.

“Ready for the next batch?” Martin asked sweetly.


	2. chapter two

Jon woke to pressure around him- _in_ him. 

His body was heavy, limbs too sluggish to move. Worst of all was his stomach. The weight centered there, an unbearable fullness that left him feeling like a balloon ready to burst. He bore down instinctively, but it was in vain. Jon’s stomach wasn’t the only part of him stuffed full, he suddenly remembered. 

There was something in his cunt. Not too long, but thick enough that it filled him like a drain plug, too wide for him to even humor the idea of anything getting past it. 

For a few minutes, Jon did nothing but try desperately to expel the toy. Every time he thought he was making progress, every time relief came into sight, his muscles gave up, practically sucking the thing back in and making him have to start the process all over again.

By the fifth failed attempt, Jon was panting with excretion, sweat beaded on his brow. He groaned as the toy slid home once again, forcing him to finally concede. It wasn't coming out, whether he wanted it to or not. Not without Martin's help, at least.

How long had it been since Martin's last visit? Jon had no way of knowing. It wasn't like there were any clocks where he was- bundled away in Martin's webs, completely and utterly reliant.

All things considered, Martin had been rather attentive. He came by often to bring Jon food and water, and occasionally statements. Always adjusting Jon's position, making sure he was as comfortable as possible. When he wasn't fucking more eggs into Jon's poor womb, that was.

Jon hadn't been allowed outside of the- nest? Cocoon?- since he'd been put in it. And he knew he wasn't going to be, not until it was time to lay Martin's clutch. Not that he was complaining. The webs were restrictive, but soft like blankets. Plus, Jon knew it was for his own good. He had a habit of getting himself hurt. Which wouldn't have been such a big deal (despite Martin's protests) if it was just _him_ he had to worry about. But now he had pieces of Martin inside of him, and if keeping them safe meant keeping _himself_ safe, well. There were worse tasks to undertake.

Especially considering how pleased with him Martin had been the last few days. He’d taken to running his hands over Jon’s stomach, fingers light as feathers, while he told him how good he was, what a great job he was doing holding all the eggs in.

He’d tried to do it on his own, at first. To be a good incubator. But it was hard. Harder than Jon had expected. There were just so _many_ of them, and he could’ve sworn they were getting larger by the day. Despite his best efforts, some had begun slipping out. He’d been so embarrassed when Martin next came, had felt near to tears. But Martin hadn’t been upset, not even disappointed. He’d just kept on telling Jon how proud he was of him, even as he slid the toy into place.

Jon felt a little guilty about trying to push it out now, but he couldn’t help himself. He was just so _full._

Hopefully, he’d improve with practice. Martin might’ve assured him it was fine, but Jon still wanted to do his best. Maybe if he started wearing the plug between clutches, it'd help him get used to being stretched open? Because there _would_ be more clutches. If he had anything to say about it, at least. Jon clenched absently around the eggs at the thought of what was to come, feeling them shift slightly.

And keep shifting.

Jon’s eyes shot open in alarm, but inside the webs, all he could see was darkness. He tried to bring his hands to his stomach, anything to soothe the unbearable tension, but his arms stayed trapped at his sides. Whether it was due to his bonds or the last vestiges of Marin’s venom coursing through his veins he couldn’t tell. Either way, the effect was the same, and he let out a frightened noise, helpless to stop whatever was happening.

Almost as soon as the sound had left his lips, Jon felt more shifting. He scrunched his eyes shut, bracing himself for the surge of pain- only to blink them open in confusion when it didn’t come. Instead, he found himself being moved. Hands touched him through the sheets of thread, large and warm.

Jon sighed with relief. The pain hadn’t eased up much, but Martin was here now. He’d make everything okay. He always did.

“-on? Jon, can you hear me? Try to take deep breaths.”

The last of the webs fell away, and Jon found himself on Martin’s bed, being nudged upright. One of Martin’s hands met his hip, the other coming up to cradle the side of Jon’s face. He leaned into the touch, inhaling through gritted teeth. The quick change of position left him reeling, clinging to Martin like a drowning man clung to a liferaft.

Martin stroked a hand through his hair, pulling Jon the rest of the way into his lap. Jon could feel Martin’s heart beating through his chest, fast as a rabbit’s. “That’s good, you’re doing good. Just keep doing that, okay? Just keep breathing. You’re doing so good.”

Jon nodded, eyes still closed. His voice cracked when he tried to speak, small and raspy from disuse. “Wh- Martin? What’s happening?” 

One of Martin's hands slipped between Jon's legs, and he let out a quiet gasp and it took hold of the toy's base. A gasp that turned fast to a whine as the plug was slid out. He flushed as he felt the cool air on his hole. Though he was unable to see past the swell of his gravid stomach, Jon _knew_ what his cunt looked like- pink and raw, gaping obscenely, his tiny cock standing to attention between his lips. He pressed his legs together, half from shame and half to keep everything inside.

Now that the plug was gone, Jon missed it dearly. There was so much, _too_ much, for him to hold onto all on his own. His abdomen tensed and untensed continuously, fighting what could only be a losing battle. It didn't help matters that Martin kept his hands firmly between Jon's thighs, prying them apart when Jon tried to close them.

Jon could feel the eggs moving, adjusting to the newly freed space inside of them. He cried out as one pressed up against the entrance to his womb, desperately trying to stop it’s course. 

“D-don’t! I’m- it’s- I _can’t-”_ Jon whimpered.

Martin only shushed him, spreading his legs wider. “You don’t have to- Jon, _Jon,_ it’s okay. I know it’s been hard, but you’re done, it’s almost over. You can let go now.”

Jon licked his chapped lips, eyes widening. “I can?” he asked.

In lieu of responding, Martin bent down and kissed him. Jon moaned into his mouth, kissing back as well as he could manage when his body still felt like it wasn’t his to control. He relaxed into the embrace, muscles loosening one by one. With a deep, shuddering breath, he unclenched his pelvis.

The effect was immediate. The egg that’d been teasing Jon’s cervix moved the moment he let go, popping out of his hole and landing on the bed beneath them.

It had definitely grown. When it first went in, it’d been tiny- barely the length of a five pence coin. Now, the egg looked more like a golf ball. Smooth and perfectly round, the rubbery, white exterior glistening wet. If Jon squinted, he could almost make out a shape beneath the surface, small and many-limbed.

“There,” Martin encouraged, “doesn’t that feel better?”

Before Jon could respond, another egg forced its way out of him, followed quickly by a third. Then a fourth. A fifth. Soon, he was pushing out an unfaltering stream, each one right after the other.

It felt _good._ Unbelievably, unfairly good. The alleviating pressure combined with the sweet, sleek friction sent Jon throwing his head back in a wordless sob, climax overtaking him. Martin held him through his orgasm, petting his thighs and whispering things Jon was too far gone to grasp in his ear. 

Jon went limp. He would’ve collapsed if it weren’t for Martin’s broad chest against his back, keeping him relatively steady. The next few eggs came easy, thin threads of slick connecting them like a string of beads. Jon wished he could’ve said he didn’t feel them, that the sensations were dulling. In truth, his orgasm had only made him more sensitive. The pleasure was like pins and needles, sending jolts of overstimulation through him. He felt everything- every glossy curve, every catch at his rim, the way his hole fluttered for a moment before spitting out another egg into the growing pile between his legs. 

He closed his eyes, open-mouthed and panting. Jon was _exhausted,_ tired beyond anything he’d felt before. How long had he been here? It was impossible to tell. His whole awareness singled in on his cunt and its seemingly never-ending task. 

Jon wrestled his eyelids open and attempted to gauge how many eggs were left in him. His stomach was as round and taut as ever, but perhaps a little… smaller? It was difficult to judge from his position, but Jon could only hope. 

As more and more left him, the pressure was lessening. But there were still so many left, and it was getting harder and harder to push them out. They were getting larger, too. 

Jon grunted in exertion, tears welling in the corners of his eyes as he finally rid himself of the egg he’d spent what felt like a small eternity struggling against. It fell with an embarrassingly loud squelch, rolling past the others. This one was about the size of a peach, and his cunt felt utterly _wrecked_ in its wake. His stomach was still fat with Martin’s clutch, but Jon couldn’t bring himself to continue. 

Martin noticed quickly, loosening his grip to take one of Jon’s hands in his own. “Come on, Jon, you’re doing so well- you can do it, just keep pushing, alright? It’s almost over, you've come so far, I’m so proud of you.” 

Jon tried, he really did. But it was fruitless. Maybe he’d have had more energy if he hadn’t spent so long endeavoring to expel the things earlier. As it was, he felt completely drained.

“C-can’t…” he sniffled, “I’m sorry.”

"Shh," Martin cooed, "it's okay, it's okay. Do you need me to help you?"

He didn't know what Martin meant, but Jon nodded all the same. _It's okay,_ he repeated to himself. _I don't need to know. All I need to do is what Martin asks._

"Alright- just relax for me. Can you do that?"

He nodded once more, willing himself to comply. It wasn't that difficult- Jon didn't think he'd be able to tense up if he wanted to.

Martin's free hand trailed along Jon's swollen stomach, and Jon had just enough time to understand what was happening before he _pushed._

Jon yelped as the pressure inside him heightened unbearably, jerking back from Martin's touch. But there was no escape. The hand followed him as he retreated, pressing down on him firmly.

With the sudden lack of space, the eggs had no choice but to strain against the entrance to Jon’s womb, struggling against each other until Martin huffed and _squeezed._ Jon sobbed as he felt his entrance forced to stretch wide, two eggs coming through at once. They popped out together, wet and shiny. Martin just kept _pushing,_ pumping eggs from Jon’s soft, pliant hole. He was merciless, and Jon could do nothing but writhe, tears streaming across his face.

By the time Martin stopped, Jon's stomach was considerably smaller, and the pile between his legs, larger. Jon had long since ran out of tears, sniffling softly with his eyes glazed over. He wasn’t empty, however- there was still a weight in his stomach, faint as it might’ve been. One last egg. 

He waited for Martin to continue, to finally empty him out. But it didn’t happen.

Martin pushed, sure, but not hard enough, and he let up before it could make any progress. Only to start again, rolling the egg back and forth through Jon’s skin, playing with it like a toy. Jon would’ve begged if he could’ve, if he thought it would’ve helped. Instead, every time he opened his mouth, all that left it were whines.

After a few minutes of torture, Martin finally appeared to grow bored. He dug his fingers into Jon’s abdomen, and Jon wailed in relief as the egg moved, sliding down his cervix and… stopping. 

Martin pushed his palm harder, but there was no effect beyond making Jon squeal a little louder. The egg felt bigger than its brothers, possibly the biggest yet. It was caught in place, lodged with Jon’s inner entrance stretched taut around its widest part. Jon shook, eyes wide. This was so much worse than just feeling it in his stomach. Worst of all, some of his strength had begun to return, and his abdomen clenched involuntarily. The egg didn’t budge, but Jon wanted to bawl with how small he felt around it, like it was never coming out. 

Jon was only drawn out from his frightened thoughts by Martin’s hands coming up to cradle his face. “Hey, hey, look at me,” he said. His voice was calm- gentle- and the ease it brought Jon to hear was like the finding the eye of a storm. He turned his head, meeting Martin’s gaze as best he could.

“It won’t come out,” Jon groaned, shifting his hips. “wh-what, _ah,_ what should I-?”

Martin bit his lip, expression considerate. “Why don’t you lie back, love?” 

He didn’t wait for Jon’s answer, leaning to carefully roll Jon out of his lap and onto the bed. Jon went willingly, flopping into the sheets. They were cool beneath him, pleasant on his burning skin. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Martin moving, but at the moment, even just tilting his head felt like too much work. He stared up at the ceiling as his legs were parted, shivering when something brushed his folds.

Two of Martin’s fingers entered easily, like he was made to take them. The thought made Jon swell with pride, and he spread his legs farther. He was rewarded with a third tucking into him. At the fourth, it began to sting. Jon may have been extensively prepared, but Martin was a large man, and his hands were no exception.

Jon whined in protest as Martin's thumb swiped across the edge of his hole, massaging Jon's own slick into him.

“W-wait, Martin,” he gasped, struggling to get up onto his elbows, only to be pressed back into place by Martin’s free hand.

“You’re doing so well, Jon- taking it so well. Just one more...” Martin said, and Jon cried out as Martin’s thumb squeezed past the rim of his hole, too big, _too big,_ but going in anyways, hand sinking in past the knuckles until it was buried wrist-deep in his cunt.

Jon was trembling, breaths coming in fast and unsteady. He clutched the sheets with both hands, each palm damp with sweat. Martin held still for a moment, giving Jon what felt like a scant few seconds to adjust before hooking his fingers. The end of one tapped against the egg, and soon the rest were rubbing against it, trying and failing to find a handhold.

“I- Martin, please, it’s not going to-” Jon cut himself off with a shriek as the hand on his stomach pushed one last time, forcing the egg ever so slightly forward. At the same moment, the hand inside him closed around it and _tugged._

Jon came a second time as Martin pulled the egg out. His hand only added to the overabundance of girth, stretching Jon’s body in a new, equally overwhelming way. Jon’s eyes rolled back in his head, mouth falling open but no sound espacing. 

When Jon regained his senses somewhat, the first thing he saw was the egg. Martin was holding it, hand soaked to the wrist, turning it around as he examined the vague shape inside with naked awe. He’d climbed up the bed and perched next to Jon’s prone form, but Martin’s dry hand remained on his stomach, petting him soothingly. With tremendous effort, Jon reached out and took it in his own shaking one.

Martin dropped the egg immediately, twisting around to face Jon fully. He went to grab Jon, but seemingly thought better of it at the last minute, settling to lean down and kiss him sweetly. Jon didn’t have the energy to reciprocate, but he moaned into Martin’s mouth to try and show his satisfaction.

Martin leaned away, bracing himself above Jon. At some point, he’d slipped his extra legs out without Jon noticing. They settled on either side of him, blocking him in like a safety rail.

“How do you feel?” Martin asked earnestly, eyes flickering over Jon’s form with the same look he’d given the last egg. Jon would’ve shivered, if he hadn’t already been shaking. “Does anything hurt? You did so good, I love you so much, you’re _perfect.”_

Jon blinked. “...Empty,” he managed to say. “Fine. Good. Very good. Tired?”

Martin nodded vehemently. “You should go to sleep. Or- a bath, first? And, are you hungry? I was cooking when I heard you- I stopped the oven, but I can still finish if you want me to. Should I get you water? I can get you water. What do you need, Jon?”

Jon’s head spun. It took him a few moments to make sense of what Martin was saying. All the while, Martin just kept petting him, gentle and oh so comforting. 

“You,” he eventually whispered, lifting his arms the few inches he could in the universal sign of _cuddle me._ “You. Just you. Please.”

Martin was on him in an instant, chest flush to Jon’s own smaller one, and- ah. _There_ was that pressure, and with it the pure _rightness_ in Jon’s bones that told him he was where he should be, doing what he was supposed to. What he was made, destined for. 

The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes were the eggs. Scattered across the bed, a few having bounced off onto the floor. All of varying sizes, each bulging with life. Life that he’d protected, kept safe and hidden away inside of him. _Incubated._

Jon allowed himself a small, contented smile. Oh, yes. He’d definitely be doing this again. Spiders laid often, after all.


End file.
